Village of Stone
by Once Upon a Faerytale
Summary: Karigan woke to a grinding of stone on stone. The harsh glare of lamplight gleamed above her, throwing long shadows across Agemon's face. "You have no Black Shield friends now, Rider girl. You must stay down here this time. It is the law."
1. Dark Wings

_~Village of Stone~_

_~Dark Wings~_

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**Decided to finally join in with writing the fanfiction as well as reading it. First fic, so I hope you enjoy. :) Much gratitude to my fantabulous beta Owlkin. This wouldn't be nearly as good without her help.**

**Anything you recognise belongs to KB, 'cos I'm not her.**

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The vaults where the long and not-so-long dead resided were generally silent. The only noise one could hear would be the faint hiss and crackle of the torches that lined the passageways at regular intervals. This time however, the silence was broken by the shuffling and stamping of feet treading worn stone corridors, and the muttering of the man in the front, grey of hair and robe. An older man with a peculiarly unlined face, he carried a bright lamp as he led the dozen caretakers toward their destination. The path they tread was well-worn, and would have shown up little dust, even if the corridors were not regularly swept.

There had been much activity in the catacombs as of late. With the king's betrothal, and the more recent marriage, Agemon had been eager to begin the carving of the queen's coffin. She was a stunning woman, and it would be an honour to immortalise her visage within his domain. While there were, naturally, many caretakers capable of skilfully working stone, Agemon felt it was his duty to put the finishing touches on the statues and sarcophagi. It was not for nothing that he was the one chosen to lead them.

Agemon had been the previous Head caretaker's personal prentice, and had helped him carve the tombstone for the revered Queen Isen. She had visited many times to observe the progress herself, as well as to freshen her image in the minds of the carvers. A stately woman, she had spoken gently to those caretakers she met, respecting the ancient silence of the tombs. He had grieved more than most when news of her passing reached him. Having been chosen to help carve her likeness, she had spoken often to him. Even the other caretakers, always reclusive, had been impressed with the attention he garnered. He had quickly outstripped the skill of his master, better known for his management skills and approachable disposition, and was the natural replacement when the old man went to meet those he had spent his life serving.

Agemon became known for his dedication to the dead, and his zealous honouring of past heroes and monarchs. Many years of service left him well-respected for his wisdom amongst the Villagers. And so it fell to him to investigate any intruders and pass judgement on them. This time he was to investigate someone who was trapped in the queen's tomb, and may well be dead anyway.

While normally such a visit to the queen's tomb would only involve one or two artisans, Agemon had felt it necessary to bring more. This time he was not carving the stone, but moving it.

He turned down a passageway whose stone carvings were much more ornate, and in some cases newer, than the others. He walked down the rows, scarcely glancing at the tombs to either side as he strode forward, determined to recover the intruder.

Agemon had been helping one of the younger stonemasons refine his craft; he felt that working on the royal carvings helped focus the younglings, and gave them a sense of pride. He had retired to sleep, as had the prentice, ready to return in the morning. Her figure had only just begun to emerge from the pale stone.

When he returned after an appropriate amount of rest, for he had no way of determining night from day, he was astonished by the sight that greeted him. While the apprentice did not seem to notice anything, Agemon himself trembled at the dark wings enfolding that particular tomb.

_Westrion_.

The Birdman, God of Death. The wings trembled faintly as the boy walked through them, and Agemon barely restrained himself from calling out in warning. He must have made some noise, however, because the boy turned around, a question in his eyes. Agemon stared at the unaffected boy, whose legs were wrapped in inky feathers, then slowly crept forward until he could reach out a tentative hand, which passed through the wings as if they were not there.

"What is it, Uncle?"

"Please step back, child. I feel an… _aura_ around this tomb."

The boy swallowed audibly and stepped back, a gleam in his eye as he watched the old man's outstretched hand. Agemon stood up and peered over the top of the tomb, where the tips of each wing overlapped slightly, as if cocooning something. A familiar tingle ran up Agemon's spine, and he _knew_ that there was someone inside, and still alive. But _how_? How did they get there? He considered his options, barely noticing the prentice who stared avidly from behind. Whoever was in there was guarded by Westrion, but even He could not replenish the air indefinitely. He would rescue them and either take them in as a Villager or turn them over to the Black Shields, if they were like the vandals who had broken in a few months prior. Deciding, Agemon turned on his heels and walked, quickly and lightly, back the way he had come, the prentice dogging his heels and carrying the bag of chisels and assorted tools. He would need to act swiftly, as there was no knowing how long the person had already been there.

"Ander." The prentice snapped to attention as they reached the outskirts of the Village, "Fetch a dozen of the strongest men, and one of our healers, please. A stretcher, too. Tell them someone is stuck beneath heavy stone and needs to be rescued." The boy nodded in acquiescence and trotted off to get the men.

Ten minutes later, they were all assembled and ready to begin their recovery of the trapped victim.

The men surrounded the tomb, their expressions focused as gripped the stone in unison to shift it away. Again Agemon wondered. Who would go to the trouble of locking a person up in the queen's tomb, and do so quietly enough not to alert anyone? _Why_? The heavy noise of stone on stone increased as the men lifted the lid off far enough to see inside. Agemon stepped forward, the men obediently shuffling to the side. He leant over the dark wings, which paled in the lamplight. Peering down, he heard a groan of pain from the figure inside. Yes, he was lucky to have brought the healer.

The Villagers leaned forward in synchronised motion trying to peer over Agemon's shoulder. Ander laughed nervously, but looked as well. Lifting the lamp higher, Agemon caught a glimpse of blood and brown hair, before recognition flashed.

_Of course it's her_, he thought, _sticking her nose where only Black Shields could safely go_. There was still the question of _how_, but that was for later. Agemon gestured to the Villagers, who resumed removing the lid. A few minutes later, it was resting in its half-carved state on the top of an adjacent tomb, and Agemon and the healer had lifted the troublesome girl out and onto a canvas stretcher, where she lay looking far too pale and with far too much blood outside of her.

Letting the men recover their strength, Agemon leaned over the girl's unmoving form and she squinted her eyes with a murmur of, "Who…?"

"You have no Black Shield friends now, Rider girl. You must stay down here this time. It is the _law_." She sighed and closed her eyes again, and Agemon was unsure if his words had registered. The men, after a brief rest, heaved the stone lid back onto the sarcophagus, directed by Agemon's careful eye.

When it was in just the right position, he straightened up and beckoned two of the men, blond-haired brothers, who picked up either end of the stretcher. With a whisper of movement, the group was ready to set off. Ander walked beside Agemon, in front of the stretcher, and peppered him with questions.

"Who is she? What happened to her? She looked awfully bad, do you think she'll live? How did you know she was in there?" Agemon closed his eyes and silently asked Ander to stay silent. The dead should not be disturbed so. That he could only answer the last question was beside the point.

"Enough time with the spirits of the dead will let you know when there's a spirit nearby, living or otherwise." Truthfully, he did not know why he could tell, but no-one spent as much time caring for the dead as he, so it was as good a guess as any, and would encourage the lad in his duty. The boy fell silent, contemplating that answer, and the crackle of torches and shuffle-stamp of feet kept the silence from wrapping around them completely. Every now and then the Rider girl, Karigan, would shift and murmur in distress as the stretcher swayed with movement. Most of the blood had stopped flowing, but a few wounds, which still held silver shards of glass, began to sluggishly bleed again. They reached the Village without meeting any Black Shields, to Agemon's relief. They would have taken the intruder back up to the sunlight with their excuses.

A small gathering of men, women and children awaited their return, and many gasped in horror when they saw the bloodied figure.

"Send her to the healing room." The healer, Brandin, commanded in his soft voice. The men carried her through, black wings now trailing limply. Brandin's wife and their two young children following with bandages, poultices, needle and thread, as well as assorted liquids to keep the wounds clean. Brandin lowered his voice as he turned to Agemon, so that even Ander, pretending not to listen nearby, could not hear. "She may not survive, even with the death surgeons' help. She has lost much blood."

Agemon nodded in understanding. They all knew the Birdman took who he wanted. The death surgeons were skilled with closing wounds, but even they could not undo that most final of all injuries. It would be a shame, but that one had been half in Westrion's arms even when he first met her.

The caretakers and their families slowly dispersed when they realised the injured woman would not provide any more of a show. Only Ander remained with Agemon, still holding the bag of carving tools. "Uncle…?"

Agemon smiled benignly at the lad. His sister's grandson was promising, and had the strong, steady hands necessary for the fine stonework used on the tomb carvings.

"We will return to the tomb. Perhaps I will let you work on the fine details, if you show the skill."

"Thank you, Uncle!" The boy beamed with the glow of youth, and Agemon knew that this statue would be the most well-crafted of all he had worked on. If the Rider girl survived, she might be able to help, even. Using the sword strengthened the hands similar to stonecarving. Or maybe she could teach the youngsters to hide the Village from the Black Shields. She was good at hiding, last time she had visited the tombs.

He would track down one of the Black Shields and mention her, of course, as protocol demanded. But maybe he would wait a bit, until the girl was more integrated into the Village and less likely to try and escape. She had shown her black-banded sword before, but she still wore the green then and now, and her sword was not one of the Shields' make. She was a Rider trespassing, and would be a Rider staying. The King could not argue this time. She was saving no-one's life or kingdom, but in fact was bleeding all over the antique carpeting. _Again_. With the shadow of death hovering over her, she was practically fated to live down in his own little kingdom. The dead belonged with the dead, and her spirit gleamed with the gray that only the dead had. It was agreeable sort of justice that rang true in the caretaker's opinion.

Agemon rested a hand on Ander's shoulder for a moment, and then turned back the way he had come, the boy following faithfully in his wake. He had made his decision and his plans were in place. She belonged to the dead, now. He ignored the niggling, guilty thought that the Black Shields had claimed her as one of their own, to freely move through the tombs as one who returned above, and that he had thought up an excess of reasons for her staying.

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**So what did y'all think? Interesting? Boring? Don't care? Let me know.** **I'll be posting a chapter every Saturday/Sunday, all for your enjoyment. You should feel priveliged. XD I've been working on this instead of doing my assignments like I should.**


	2. Hope

**Another chapter. I think they'll be a bit slower than my weekly estimate, but I hope you still like. **

**Thanks to Owlkin for being my awesome Beta.**

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Alton woke, bleary-eyed, as a pale bar of sunlight broke through the parted tent flaps to fall across his face. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, attempting to straighten his creased and rumpled Rider uniform. He had not slept properly the last two nights, too worried for Estral and the Wall to care for himself, and it showed. He disdained shaving for the more important tasks of seeing Estral and assessing how she was coping, and pushed open the tent flaps to step into the washed-out, uncaring morning.

He stepped gingerly around the ropes that held up the tent, and stamped his feet in the chilly air, attempting to restart the circulation the cold air had stilled. He shoved his hands under his armpits and ambled over to the medical tent, where Estral still slept. She had woken briefly yesterday, tears tracking across her face even in sleep, but fell back into oblivion soon after. The guard on duty nodded him in, pity writ large across his face. He entered cautiously, not wanting to wake her if she still slept. He needn't have bothered. Dale sat on the edge of the bed beside her, encouraging her to eat a loaf of bread and sweet apple cider. She had been sitting with her back to the entrance, head bowed and hidden behind her hair, but she looked up at the sound of the tent flap being pushed aside.

She looked terrible, and understandably so; hair a tangled bird's nest, dark shadows hanging under red eyes, and a defeated expression on her unnaturally pale face. If Alton had bothered to take note of his own appearance in his tent's small shaving mirror, he would have realised he was much the same. He raised a hand in feeble greeting, and she managed a half-hearted smile in return. At her action, Dale turned to greet Alton as well. In contrast to them both, she had managed a fresh set of clothes and had braided her hair back from her face.

"Hello Estral, Dale." Alton sat on the end of the bed and took Estral's hand, and she smiled gratefully as she slowly took a sip of cider. "Were the healers able to tell us anything?"

"No." Dale spoke as Estral shook her head and silently echoed the Rider, a single tear slipping down her face. Alton reached out and brushed it away before it could fall.

"We'll think of something. Try not to worry too much." The words rang hollow to his ears, and Estral shook her head at him. They stared at each other as Dale excused herself, leaving the food and drink behind. Estral stood up and pulled Alton with her, giving him a quick peck and pushing him out the door.

_I will get dressed. Go see to the wall. Merdigen may have returned_, she mouthed, as Dale grabbed him by the hand and dragged him with her.

More people had woken up by now, and the sounds of civilisation drifted through the air, accompanied by the acrid smell of smoke.

"Come on, Alton. You heard-" Dale abruptly cut off her sentence, and an awkward pause rose between them, "You know what she told you. It will not matter if she can speak or not if the Wall falls because you are focusing on other problems."

"_Other problems_! She's been healing the wall, how can I-"

"You still know the tune, and you're _D'Yer_. It's in your blood."

"And my people's blood is in the Wall. Do you expect me to sacrifice myself to keep this hunk of stone going a bit longer?" Dale spun around to stare at him in horror.

"How could you ask that, Alton?" Dale watched him worriedly, as if expecting him to suddenly sprint over to the Wall and enter the stone forever, as his cousin Pendric had.

Alton, his anger abruptly fading, suddenly realised how tense he was. Consciously relaxing each muscle, he gave Dale a slightly forced smile and rocked back on his heels. Shamefaced, he spoke again, his voice much quieter than before.

"I'm sorry, Dale." He brought his hands up to clench in his hair. "I'm just worried about Estral. What if she doesn't get her voice back? Music is everything to her." He spun around and bowed his head.

Dale said nothing, but a moment later he felt her hand on his shoulder, gentle and somehow reassuring.

"She'll be fine, Alton. It's just a bit of magic. We'll find who did it and make them return her voice. Not just for the Wall, but for her."

Alton took a shuddering breath and turned around, and Dale wrapped him in an unexpected hug. He hesitantly returned it. "Thank you." He whispered, stepping back.

"All good for now? Let's go see our horses. We've already held up their regular exercise."

Alton followed Dale with more of a spring in his step, smiling to himself and looking forward to seeing Night Hawk. He realised guiltily that he'd neglected the amount of time he'd spent with the gelding since Estral's arrival a few weeks before. He quickened his pace and caught up to Dale, taking in the forest around him.

Leaves rustled as animals moved through the trees and underbrush, and wintry sunlight broke through the canopy to dapple the ground as they walked a worn path to where the horses were tethered. As they approached, four of the horses threw their heads up and gazed at the Riders, whickering greetings and stamping their feet, pulling on tethers. Night Hawk's response was expected, but Alton was surprised to see Owl and Condor join in the greetings, tugging even more vehemently than the other two.

"Are they always this eager?" Alton asked Dale, who was frowning in confusion and worry.

"No," she absently replied as she walked steadily towards the two agitated geldings. She held out her hands to them, reaching out to smooth her palm over Condor's tensed neck. He snorted at her and shied away, and she took a few steps back, making soothing noises while Alton grabbed a bucket of grain and approached from behind her.

He shook it and Night Hawk and Dale's Horse perked up, but Owl barely glanced at it before turning back to eyeballing Dale. Condor didn't even glance at Alton, but he gave a little half-rear, all that the tether allowed, then stood stock still and let loose a loud drawn-out whinny.

A thought occurred to Alton. He remembered what the other Riders told him about Night Hawk, when he was in Blackveil himself.

"Dale." She ignored him, still speaking reassuring words to Condor in a low voice, "Dale!"

"What?"

"Maybe they know something? Everyone told me that Night Hawk waited by the breach while I was there, even when you all thought I was dead. Maybe their Riders are near?"

Dale paused to consider it, then abruptly stepped to Her Horse and swung up, releasing the tether that held him/her in place. "Alton, let them loose. We can follow them."

Alton felt hope and excitement trickle through his veins, and he reached out to untie the lead ropes attached to the horses' halters. It took them both a moment to realise they were free, but then Condor spun around and broke into a quick trot, heading for the wall. His head was held high, ears flicking around himself and Owl following him. Alton mounted Night Hawk, who danced in place, then he and dale nudged their horses into movement. Alton had a fleeting notion that maybe he should of at least put a proper bridle on Night Hawk, but the thought was brushed away as he saw Condor halt in the middle of the encampment, letting loose another deafening whinny. He kicked Night Hawk into a canter to reach the gelding, leaning down and grabbing the trailing end of Condor's lead.

The agitated horse spun around, his nostrils flaring and eyes showing a ring of white around them. Owl stamped and whickered beside him, head turning this as and that as if looking for something. (?) Alton shot a questioning look at Dale, but she shook her head. She didn't have any more idea what was going on than him.

All of a sudden, the tension seemed to bleed out of Condor. Owl nudged him with his muzzle, then they both turned to look expectantly at Alton.

"What in the five _hells_?" Dale shrugged, but gathered up Owl's lead rein and tugged him back the way they had come, the gelding following docilely behind, head lowered as if in defeat. Alton turned Night Hawk with his knees, pulling Condor with him, who looked just as dispirited. As Alton rode back through the camp and called out the occasional reassurance to soldiers, staff or other Riders, he wondered why they had suddenly calmed down, and hoped that the delegation was safe, as safe as they could be in a place like Blackveil.

He reached the place where the horses were kept and retied Condor alongside Owl and Dale's Horse, whose rider had dismounted and stood stroking Owl's nose and taking quietly in his ear. Alton slid off Night Hawk's back and tethered him next to the other mounts, walking over to Dale as she turned to face him.

"I have no idea," she spoke before he could open his mouth, "It's as if it never happened. I just hope their Riders are okay." Alton fervently agreed. If Karigan was hurt, or worse; he could not forgive himself for letting her go into Blackveil, still angry with him. He also had to shudder at the thought of being the one to have to tell King Zachary.

He and Dale wandered back to camp, where an anxious Estral waited for them, a soldier shifting beside her, a mixture of jittery nerves and curiosity. She slipped her hand into his, walking with them back to the centre of the encampment.

Estral gestured behind her questioningly with her free hand, and Alton explained what had happened and all they still did not know. She sighed sadly, upset for the separated horses and riders, and squeezed his hand in sympathy, Dale walking beside them in contemplative silence, letting Alton talk out their suppositions. They reached the healer's tent where Leese waited impatiently for Estral, whom she bustled back into the tent, ignoring the young woman's exasperated glance back at Alton. He chuckled, and then turned to Dale.

"I thought…" he licked his lips and tried again, "I thought talking to Merdigen, if he's back, might help. He might know a way to fix this." He did not allow the desperate hope to fill him, squelching it down firmly.

"It can't hurt to try. And you can check on the Guardians. They'll be missing her voice, too." Alton nodded jerkily and spun on his heel, winding between the tents to the Tower of the Heavens. The imposing stone wall loomed up at him, and even now it looked more brittle, a little closer to giving up the fight against the taint of Mornhavon.

Taking a deep breath, Alton grasped his brooch and stepped through the stone as if it were not there. He opened his eyes and beheld the room that was by now so familiar to him. By the pedestal stood Merdigen, his arms crossed and an impressively dramatic scowl on his face. As soon as he saw Alton, he stepped forward, arms gesticulating wildly.

"What happened, boy? The Guardians have faltered in their song!" Merdigen stormed back and forth, robed whipping with movement.

"Estral-"

"That's the girl I need! Get her back up here, _now_. Do you want the wall to fall?" What was it with people asking him that today?

"She can't-"

"And whyever not?" Merdigen interrupted again, watching Alton with eyebrows raised in expectation.

"She lost her voice."

"Lost it! Give her some tea with honey, and bring her back up here! That's no reason to slack off." Alton breathed deeply through his nose, trying to hear his words from the projection's point of view.

"She didn't _lose_ it, it was taken from her. By magic." Merdigen exclaimed in dismay and Alton was forced to recount the story to him before he was satisfied. At last, he fell silent, as did Merdigen, who frowned into his beard with his brows furrowed in concentration. After long enough for Alton to become slightly impatient, he looked up with a grim expression.

"I have heard of such a thing being done before… Mornhavon stole the voices of Eletians to enchant the strings of a harp for one of his Sacoridian generals." The mage (?) sighed, "Their voices were never returned." Alton exhaled as Merdigen's words registered. Would Estral never get her voice back?

"Is there no way, at all?" Despite what he had told Dale earlier, he did need Estral's voice, and not just for her own happiness. Merdigen had said the wall was already declining again.

"There may be, boy. Mornhavon was never killed, and the harp disappeared, but mayhaps removing the magician who did this would return your minstrel's voice?" Merdigen suggested the idea hesitantly, as if reading Alton's distaste in advance. And Alton did find it distasteful.

He did not relish killing anyone, but this individual was a Second Imperial, and the one who had stolen Estral's voice and crushed the hope of keeping the wall up with it. Well, it would not overly trouble him. But the Red Bird had gone…

"I would have to go into Blackveil to find whoever did this."

"You are afraid?"

"Yes!" He snapped. How could he not be? "It's Blackveil. But I am more afraid that the Wall will fall and all of the darkness, along with those Sleeper creatures, will spill out into Sacoridia."

Merdigen jumped up and clapped. "That's the spirit, Deyer! Bring the fight to them. I only wish I could go with you. It would be fascinating to see what Mornhavon's taint has done to the creatures there."

Alton could not quite agree, but his mind was only half on Merdigen, chattering about the creations Mornhavon had wrought from the wildlife during the Long War.

"…And spines as thick as your arm, sharper than any blade you could forge. Why, they would often be used as such, whenever someone managed to kill one of the creatures. I really should talk to the others…"

Alton's mind whirled with plans. He would gather a force, two dozen soldiers perhaps, and they would go in. Whoever had stolen Estral's voice could not remain there forever, but neither could he wait for the magician to try to leave the Forest. Absently, he farewelled Merdigen, still making his own plans, and strode out of the tower, coming face-to-face with Estral and Dale.

Alton frowned slightly, "What are you doing here?"

Estral's face was crumpled with despair, and she rested one hand on the wall, staring at it as if she had never seen it before. It was Dale who answered for her.

"She thought the guardians might still respond to her, remember her somehow." Alton did not need to ask whether it was successful. He pulled Estral into his arms, and she buried her face into his shoulder, finally letting her tears flow. He held her, stroking one hand over her hair in a vain attempt at comfort. Dale waited awkwardly for a few minutes until Estral looked up again, eyes red and puffy but dry. She squeezed Alton around the middle before stepping back, although she kept one of his hands in both of hers.

"Did Merdigen say anything?" Alton repeated everything he had been told, and added his own ideas at the end. Dale made a few noises of protest, for it was dangerous and he had been told to keep watch on the Wall, but gave up when she saw the determination in his eyes.

Estral just smiled brilliantly at him, and together they prepared a volunteer group, consisting of soldiers too brave or too foolhardy to recognise the danger Blackveil provided, or those that had become friends with Estral and the young Lord-Governor's son.

When it came to Leese, she expressed her regret, stating that she was needed to manage the tending of the many injuries sustained by soldiers staying next to a deadly, magical forest. In her place came an older woman named Clera. She explained she was a distant cousin, exiled long ago, who wanted to help fix the Wall her ancestors built, which she felt was her duty as a D'yer.

Alton ordered supplies collected, foodstuffs and medical supplies packed away, ready for the journey. That night, during a hurried dinner where he alternated between eating and giving orders to the volunteers, Estral came up to him and indicated she wanted to speak to him. Her sea-green eyes were large and pleading, and he downed the rest quickly, the watery soup barely cooled from when it was taken from the pot.

Estral led Alton to just outside the tent, where he shivered in the cool air and wrapped his cloak more firmly about himself.

"What is it?"

Estral gestures first to herself, then to the scramble of solders and baggage that waited near the wall, ready for first light. She pressed her fingers to her heart and mouthed, _Me too_.

"No. You'd have no way to call for help if you ran into trouble." her face flashed with hurt and anger before being replaced by determination.

She pulled a sheet of parchment and a charcoal pencil from the pocket of her own cloak, and scribbled something on it. When she turned it around, Alton read_, I feel it. I know where my voice is_. He looked up at her face, her eager expression and the wistfulness in her eyes. He knew how she felt. Not entirely, for she relied on her voice much more than he did his, but if his Rider brooch was taken, or he was unable to sit a horse, he imagined he would feel just as devastated and directionless.

Unable to ignore the silent plea, especially if she had a chance of helping direct them, he nodded. She grinned, joyous, and ran off to gather her things, already packed in a travelling bag, her lyrein its stiffened leather case and tied on. Alton smiled. Even if she could not sing, she was an extraordinary musician, and the sound would help raise the spirits of all travelling.

Or bring animals or people down on their location.

He shrugged, determined to wait until they had to stop to figure out if it was safe. He would not dash her spirits that way.

She grinned again, a quick flicker of white teeth, then kissed him soundly before dashing off to place her bag with the others. Despite his worries, the thought of having Estral along raised his spirits in a way nothing else could. Grinning himself, he stepped back into the tent for another bowl of soup, determined to take his time over it.

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**Well, this chapter's at least longer than the last. They'll hopefully be staying as long or longer as I get into stride.**


	3. Acquaintances New and Old

**_School holidays are in two days, so I'll be able to pick up posting rate a bit then. Until that, here's this chapter. _**

**_As always, thanks to Owlkin._**

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_A dark, small space . . . knuckles burning and flashes of light slicing into her flesh . . . light burning next to a face that pronounced her doom . . . the sensation of a cool burning and flashes of red dancing across her vision, pressure over the wound (on her what?) . . . slipping into darkness . . . was this death? There seemed to be too much sensation for that . . . _

The next thing Karigan became conscious of was a sound slow creak from in front of her, a door opening and closing, bringing with it the pungent smell of herbs. She cracked her eyes open and nearly closed them again at the sight that met her tires gaze. A middle-aged man, his long brown hair framing dark blue eyes in a round, gentle face; stood in the open doorway wearing a healer's smock.

Was the blood on it hers? She had a moment of disorientation before the memory returned like a bull spinning for another charge. If she had not already been lying down, she would have fallen over.

Argenthyne . . . the Mirror Mask . . . Mornhavon . . . Yates . . .

Throwing the Mirror at the ground and watching it shatter outwards.

Heavy wingbeats and the… _place_ she had been taken to. Trying to get out and feeling the glass pierce her flesh, fainting from pain and exhaustion. She gasped and tried to sit up but fell back with a pained exclamation. Where was she?

"Relax, _please_. You will tear your stitches."

"Where am I?" She did not recognise the dark stone walls, or the spartan furnishings that made even the castle's Menders' Wing look ostentatious. The man was unfamiliar as well, he wasn't any of the healer's she'd seen in the castle before. His voice was deep and reassuring.

"Safe," the man replied firmly, "I do not know where you came from or how you got here, but we will look to your injuries before you do anything else, yes?"

She opened her mouth to repeat her question, but the man stepped forward and placed something in it. It was spongy and bland, and she spat it out on reflex. The man made an impatient sound as he gingerly picked up the object and held it out to her in the palm of his hand?

"Do you want to be healed or not? It is only a fungus. It will stop you from being taken by fever. You had many wounds, still have many." Karigan picked it up and looked at the gray-blue fungus before she hesitantly took a bite of it. It was still just as flavourless, but she was able to swallow it with the help of a glass of water that sat on a small table beside her.

As the last vestiges of sleep fell away and the pain faded slightly, she leaned against the bedhead and looked around properly. Windowless, it held only the side table and thin bed, as well as a basket of bandages and bottles that the man had just brought in. A single lamp flickered on the wall to her right, and she wondered how long she had been here, or even what time it was.

"Better? Good. I am Brandin, and you are in our Village. Most visitors take this badly, and I am told you will be no exception, but you must stay here."

Did she know someone here? She had a slowly growing feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach, but she did not know why. He still hadn't answered her question properly. Brandin, still wearing his calming healer's expression, handed her a covered tray, from which wafted the smell of warm bread and meat. Her mouth watered and she suddenly realised she was starving. As she reached out to remove the cover with her right hand, she cried out as the movement jarred the wooden splint strapped to her wrist. She stared at her hand in horror, remembering the distinctive crunch of bone as the Sleeper's hand tightened around her own. Brandin noticed her stillness, and turned toward her with a sympathetic look in his eyes. His own hands reached out to pull the cover off himself.

"The wrist was badly broken; we could not set it properly. Too many little pieces. It will heal, but not as it should. You need to use your other hand now."

She stared at him uncomprehendingly, her mind howling at her that this war wrong, wrong, wrong. Hadn't Ealdaen said it could be healed? A _true_ healer, though. An Eletian? Or did he mean someone like Ben, who used magic to heal? It did not seem possible that after being saved from Immerez's revenge, she would still lose her hand to Mornhavon. She felt tears prick her eyes and tried to force them back.

Ben! If she could get to him, he could fix it. He had to be able to. She was competent with her left hand, yes, but she was better with her right.

She turned to Brandin, who was watching for her reaction. "Please. I am a king's messenger, a Green Rider. I thank you for your help, but I must get back to the castle. They have a healer there, he can fix my wrist before it sets." Brandin's face fell, and Karigan wondered if she was even close enough to get to the castle before the bones fused too much.

"You do not see. You are close to the castle, yes, very close." The man's expression flickered with some emotion, gone too fast for Karigan to identify, "But you _cannot_ leave. It is not about healing. And your healer, he cannot come here, either."

"Why not? He doesn't like riding, but . . . how far away? And why can't I leave?"

"Close, very close." Brandin shifted in discomfort but still watched her with his calm healer's eyes; silently reassuring that everything would be fine. Why couldn't she leave?

The dread coiling in her stomach woke slowly, sliding up her throat and leaving her with a feeling of being suffocated. No. Westrion, god of the dead. She had woken in a small space, lying down. Like a sarcophagus. _No_. She had come down here last time, been allowed back up. Even Agemon had said so. And it was _close_ to the castle. She looked at Brandin with wide eyes, pleading with him to deny her thoughts. He shook his head, slowly, no longer meeting her eyes, and the temperature of the room seemed to plummet.

"The _Village_. Where the caretakers live." The words slipped out without her meaning them to.

"Where I live. Where you live, now."

"But I'm a Black Shield. Ask Agemon. He was there last time I came here!" She would _not_ stay here. The Weapons would find her, or she would find them.

"It was he who found you. You should be grateful, you would not have been found otherwise. Would have been very messy for us, eventually." Karigan shoved the thought of that possibility out of her mind.

"Agemon knows I'm a Weapon, a Black Shield. I even have a staff, it has their shield on it!" She felt around her, before realising she had let it go when she took the mask.

"You had nothing with you, except for your saber and little crystal. They are waiting for you outside." The moonstone! Karigan was relieved that was not lost as well, although it did not do her much good in her current predicament. Agemon _knew _she did not have to stay! She scowled and gathered her resolve, determined to get up and hound the pale man until he let her return.

She sat up on the side of the bed, ignoring Brandin's remonstrations and her own screaming injuries. She stood up and limped over to the door, holding onto the wall and keeping her weight off of her injured leg, hobbling outside. When she reached the doorway, she saw a woman and two teens, both children with Brandin's blue eyes and his healer's smile, unruffled and soothing. Their expressions turned to alarm when they saw her bandaged form. Their mother hung back timidly, and Karigan remembered that most of the caretakers were not used to outsiders, not even Weapons. The boys stepped forward to support her, one of them handing her a crutch, which she tucked under her arm.

"Where is Agemon?"

"He's out, miss. He's Head, got lots to do 'round here." The younger of the two spoke up, and Karigan felt Brandin come up behind her. She spun around, wobbling, and glared at him until he backed off, hands raised innocently.

"Please, Green Rider, you must lay back down. You will irritate your injuries."

"I'm already more than irritated! Where is Agemon?!"

"He is away, as Kori told you. He will be back soon."

Karigan became aware of a shuffling behind her, and turned to see a small crowd gathered cautiously outside the healer's rooms. One girl, vaguely familiar with dark brown hair and gray-green eyes, stepped forward and met Karigan's eyes.

"Yes?" Unless she would take her to Agemon, she was not interested in talking with these people any more. To be stuck down here, no sunlight, no Riding, no Zachary…

Karigan swallowed harshly, a memory flashing back to the sarcophagus of the king she had seen before. Hopefully not for a long time.

"You're the Black Shield, aren't you? The one who stopped the bad men who hurt Charles?" Iris asked. The girl who had been held hostage by Second Empire. Karigan nodded. Would the girl take her to see the head caretaker? She hoped so, because she did not relish the thought of wandering through the endless passageways filled with the dead, hoping to come across one living man.

"He'll be back soon. He always explains to everyone new, tells them what life will be like here. I can show you around here, while you wait?" Karigan thought the offer over. If Agemon was busy, it would occupy her time, and she could work on an escape plan. Karigan nodded her acquiescence, and Iris stepped up to Karigan, tugging once on her good hand, before beginning to walk away. Karigan threw one last glare over her shoulder at Brandin, before hobbling after Iris, who walked through the crowd as they parted to give way. to her.

"What's your name?" Iris blushed slightly, "Agemon only called you the Black Shield."

"Karigan."

"That's a pretty name. All our family have the same sort of names. It can get pretty boring after a while." Karigan wondered what that meant, but Iris did not elaborate.

The rest of the Village was alike to what she had already seen. Similar to the castle, it had sconces burning along hallways, lighting their path as Iris showed her to the central rooms, where the Masters, the Head and any family they had stayed.

"Brandin has a home here, but only Martra and their kids stay there. He likes to be near the patients, like you, to help them if they need it." Karigan scowled and attempted to stand straighter, and a small smile flickered over Iris's face. She led Karigan to the gardens, where the few plants they could grow there did, with earth taken from outside to make a bed. The plants were pale, as they would be, but on a few bloomed colourful flowers in shades of red and yellow, like flame.

"Firebrights. They've grown here forever, and Martra gave me my own seeds. I've got a firebright plant in my room, and me and Rose look after it. She's my little sister. Come on, you can meet her, she loves meeting new people." Iris plucked one of the flowers, its many fiery petals curled around each other, and presented it to Karigan with another shy smile.

"It's beautiful." Karigan brought the flower to her nose to inhale the surprisingly sharp scent of smoke and feel ticklish burning on her nose, and jerked back in surprise. She ignored Iris's quiet laugh and tucked the flower into the top buttonhole of her coat.

Iris turned and led her back through the hallways, and now Karigan could recognise the colourful rugs that she had seen nowhere in her journeys of the tombs but the Village, each one with its own intricate pattern and colour combination. They reached a small set of rooms on the outskirts of the village, where a small woman, who strongly resembled Iris, greeted Iris cheerfully. She then turned to Karigan and gave a small curtsey, introducing herself as Calla. _Rose, Iris and Calla_, Karigan thought bemusedly as she nodded in return.

"You are the newcomer, aren't you? You made such a commotion, being brought in all bloodied, with Agemon in a right tizzy." Karigan smiled sheepishly, and Iris giggled.

"Come in, though. You must be hungry after all that healing. The rumours have spread, but still no one knows how you got here."

"Thank you. I'm not quite sure how I got here either, but there are those above who might."

"None of that, now. The Head Caretaker warned us you would fight this more than most, but you will just be miserable if you do, we have seen such things before. Those people waste away, go mad from the sun-longing. Anyway, why are you not taking rest with Brandin? Iris?"

While Iris talked of taking her on the tour, and her argument with Brandin, Calla prepared Karigan a simple meal of soft bread and creamy yellow butter, with a glass of translucent red juice that tasted of cherries. She had nearly finished the meal when a curtain parted to reveal a small face, which disappeared as soon as it saw Karigan looking back. It reappeared a second later, along with the rest of a girl in a pale gray dress, about eight years old. Calla introduced Karigan to Rose, who waved cheerfully and walked over to her side.

"Hi. You're the new caretaker, aren't you? Mummy told me it took a dozen men to bring you here, you fought so much. You didn't hurt any of them, did you? My daddy was there, but he didn't look hurt when he came home. You don't look too good, though."

"Rose!" Calla scolded, "She didn't have to fight any of them. They needed to move some stone to get to her, she was in no condition to hurt even a fly."

"I've been told I'm a caretaker, for now at least. I was fighting Mornhavon, and I had to destroy something to stop him getting it. It took me here." There were gasps from all three females when she spoke of Mornhavon.

"You're a liar. He's dead, he's been dead for ages, behind the big wall the D'yers built." Karigan sighed. Rose was certainly more outspoken than Iris.

"He was _asleep_, but the Wall was broken and he woke up." Rose huffed, unconvinced, but a worried frown appeared between Calla's brows. Karigan took the opportunity afforded by the lull in conversation to eat the last bite of bread and swallow the rest of the juice. Rose frowned, but didn't say anything else. A slightly awkward silence broke out, but Iris quickly spoke up and dispelled it.

"C'mon, Karigan. I'll show you _my _firebright." Karigan stood up with a murmur of thanks to Calla, and followed Iris into the room Rose had come out of. She pushed aside the gray fabric with its three startling streaks of pale blue, walking into a smaller room with the same homey feeling as the kitchen. Two short beds were pushed to each side. Iris brought the firebright, the three large blooms on its slender stems seeming the glow slightly in the dark room.

"See? It's grows as well as any of Martra's. I help her, sometimes, with the plants, because her boys think it's too girly. And Martra helps me find new books to read to Queen Lyra."

Karigan shuddered at the thought of the embalmed corpse, lying in her bed and being read to. As if the thoughts of death had seeped into her soul, she sagged with exhaustion, reminding herself she was badly injured and still not caught up properly on her rest. She straightened up again, trying to pay attention to Iris telling her of the current book she was reading to the deceased monarch, but something must have shown on her face. Iris frowned at her slightly, then placed the firebright on the bedside table.

"I forgot." She said guiltily, "You're still hurt. Brandin will be so worried, he does want you to heal, and be happy, but he can't change the rules. And Agemon! He wanted you to wait in the healer's room until he got back! He's going to be so annoyed."

Iris stepped quickly into the kitchen room, leaving Karigan to limp after with her crutch. Iris was saying her apologies to Rose and Calla, then beckoned to Karigan and disappeared out the door. They walked as swiftly as Karigan's injuries allowed, along the wide, twisting passages. Karigan gave up trying memorize the ways she took, and decided to investigate later, when she had the stamina. As they reached the mender's room, Karigan saw a familiar figure talking to the tall mender.

"She should have stayed here. She could get lost, or find her way out. The _gods _would be displeased."

"She was with Iris, Caretaker Agemon. Seeing the Village and trying to find you. They planned these things with my approval."

"We're here now!" Iris's small voice piped up, making both men turn their heads, one with relief showing on his face, the other expressing irritation. "I only took her to Martra's gardens and my home, Agemon." The man in question sighed in resignation.

"Thank you, child, you've done your duty, but Caretaker Karigan must be tired now, and her injuries in need of looking to." Karigan refused to confirm this, but waited silently by Iris's side as the girl's face fell.

"Yes, Agemon. I can visit you later, Karigan, and show you the rest of the Village. It can be fun here, you'll see." Iris waved to Karigan, then took off back the way they had come. When she had disappeared from sight, Agemon turned to Karigan, scowling.

"You must stay here and heal, green one. Your leg will not get better if you move around." Karigan fought the urge to roll her eyes, but shuffled into the mending room under the watchful eyes of Agemon and Brandin.

Brandin set about renewing her bandages, which had partially bled through, while Agemon handed her a bundle of grey and white fabric. Karigan winced as the mender unpeeled one of the bandages, stuck to her skin with dried blood.

"What are these?" Looking at Agemon in his pale attire, she hoped they weren't what she thought they were.

"These are your new clothes, green one. You will wear them while in the village, caring for the deceased. Caretakers are the unseen shadows in Westrion's abode. We care for the remnants of his people, lest their spirits decay with their bodies. You will help with this."

Karigan did not want to relinquish her Rider uniform. It was a symbol of the freedom of riding across the lands on her horse Condor, and exchanging it for the drab colours seemed like giving up any chance of regaining that freedom. She shook her head and tried to reason once more, while Brandin bustled around her.

"I am a _Green Rider_. My Captain, the King, they will wonder where I have gone. The Black Shields, too." She roughly pushed away the little voice that said all they would know was that she had been in Blackveil, then disappeared. She did not even know if any other the others had survived.

"Yes, a _Green Rider_. So you should stay here. When you are a Black Shield again, you will be allowed to leave. It is not my responsibility to nurse every rule-breaker to health, then let them return above. It is not done." He didn't have to alert the Weapons to a new Villager? Surely he would have to. Agemon pushed the clothes at her again, and she took hold of them, determined to keep her uniform despite Agemon's vehemence.

Agemon watched her carefully for a moment, then announced that he was returning to work, and left. Brandin _tsked _at Karigan as he swabbed a cut she had received from the mask, making her yelp with the stinging pain.

"This hurts the infection, also. Good for you. Fighting for the sunlight is not." She frowned at him, still clutching the bundle of clothes.

"I am not going to stay here. I will get out." It was a promise to herself as well as to Brandin, and Agemon. _Hmph_. He knew she did not have to remain underground. But was it as simple as alerting one of the Tomb Weapons? Agemon would surely expect that.

"Do not think what you are thinking, Karigan girl." Brandin sighed as he tied off the last of the bandages. "Iris is correct, it is a nice place here. Even if that Thursgad does not yet see it. You seem smarter than him."

Thursgad! Would he help her? She needed to find him. He might have been one of Immerez's men, but she could tolerate him if it meant being able to escape.

Brandin frowned as if he could read her thoughts, or maybe just her face, and packed up his supplies.

"Stay here, Karigan girl. Agemon is not our leader for no reason. He knows all the ways a person may escape." She sighed and relaxed back, prepared to wait while she healed, as her mind spun through the locations a superstitious, frightened man might hide in a tomb. Brandin gave her one last glance as he exited the room, leaving her to her thoughts.

* * *

**Reviews are nice, reviews are wonderful, reviews inspire me to write faster. XD**


	4. Author's Note

Hey all, just an update on my lack of updates.

When I started writing this story, I was all geared up, revving to write it, but now it's kind of petered out on me. I _may_ start it up again if my muse hits me up some more, but for now, it's on a hiatus. I thank and apologise to everyone who was reading the story, but it's just not flowing like I wanted it to.

That's all, folks. (At least for now)


	5. Aereal for Prime Minister

**This chapter was written by the lovely Aereal. if you haven't read any of her stuff, what are you doing? Go, read and be amazed! After this, of course. ;D**

* * *

**~ Village of Stone ~**

**~ Chapter Four ~**

* * *

Zachary exhaled sharply and threw the sheets of parchment onto his desk. He leaned back in his chair, stretching wearily. The contents of this letter were nothing but good, yet never had he felt such a strange mixture of emotions. Pain, regret, despair, relief, sadness. Guilt.

He had sought out Laren Mapstone just a month after her departure, although he certainly had not forgiven her then, and possibly never completely would. But his world was spinning on its axis, and he needed her keen insight. He felt like his moral compass itself had been spun about by the tumbler. Bitter experience since the assassination attempt had taught him what he desperately tried to ignore before—he could not do wrong by his own conscience in an attempt to do right for his people. The means which had seemed the lesser before, allowing himself to be blackmailed, disempowered and essentially violated by the scheming curs about him, supposedly for the good of the country, were now a humiliating reminder of his impotence.

It was an odd thing, he thought wryly, that Laren had hated court politics, and yet she was better than anyone he knew at really getting to the cold hard facts; the truth of actions and intentions. And even still she had become a piece in that distasteful game of intrigue. But - _to recover one's heart one must use one's head_. Those were the words Telagioth had spoken, somehow breaking through Zachary's haze of grief, as the Eletian survivors of the Blackveil party dispersed. They had come to pay their respects to the missing Green Rider to whom they were deeply indebted, respect and compassion glimmering in their cerulean eyes.

And so Zachary had swallowed his anger and sent a rider after Laren. She had gone at his behest from Corsa, where Stevic G'ladheon had astoundingly not thrown her out, to Coutre Province and thence to neighbouring Arey, and finally Bairdly.

Her news, conveyed in her usual dry manner, now lay in front of him. The new Lady Governor of Coutre, Estora's sister Hellene seemed fair and competent. But she lacked the confidence of their late father, and his scheming ways, or at perhaps it was that the surrounding provinces had lost confidence in _her_. Thus Arey province was now allied more firmly with Penburn, as evidenced by the new trade agreements for passage over the Wingsong Mountains. Bairdly province, while still in theory allied with Coutre, had been crippled by diseased crops and was upon the mercy of the Crown to stop its citizens from starving. It certainly could not be moved to a coup.

"So the mighty alliance falls", murmured Zachary, reaching down to pat the terrier that was drooling contentedly on the rug near the fireplace. The solidarity of the Eastern bloc was gone—and, he knew, any possible threat to Hillander rule. And with it, disappeared the very reason for Zachary's agreeing to the marriage contract with Estora.

Only a year ago Zachary would have been overjoyed to receive this news. But now he just felt sick. How had he misjudged everything so badly? It all felt so necessary at the time, the threat to the nation's stability so real and permanent.

He groaned and ran one hand through his already dishevelled hair. Fastion emerged solemnly from the corner at his right, placing his hand on the King's shoulder.

Somehow his faithful weapon managed to convey some reassurance with this silent show of support. Zachary bowed his head for a moment then straightened in his chair, nodding his thanks to the already retreating weapon. He stood and stretched vigorously, shaking off the creeping lethargy as best he could, before padding towards his bedchamber.

* * *

Any hope Zachary had of a restful sleep was dashed yet again. Glimmering Eletian eyes floated through his dreams, torturing him with a pitying gaze. He dreamed that he awoke and saw those eyes gleaming from the stone wall, only to be replaced with Laren's mocking brown ones. _You let her go for nothing, Moonling… you sent her to die needlessly._

As he tossed and turned, the same dream crept upon him that came every night, smothering his mind like dark vines. He walked down a narrow passage in the tombs, a torch in hand. Next to him a dark form of Mornhavon writhed like black smoke, guiding him ever deeper. They came upon a stone tomb with the likeness of Queen Estora carved upon the lid, and around it stood Agemon and a group of villagers. Next to the old man was Karigan, clad in the same pale grey as the others. As he reached out for her with a cry, she stepped back, her eyes blank. _I can't leave now, I never was yours anyway…_

Normally at this point he found himself forced gradually back and her image would fade away. But this time he somehow, with an exceptional effort, summoned up the power to move forwards towards her and hesitantly touched her face. _I won't give up, Kari. I will find a way. I will find you._

He managed to drift off finally as the sun's rays peaked over the horizon.

* * *

The next morning a tired – but thoughtful and determined looking – Zachary prepared to meet with his secretary. Anduis was the youngest son of the impoverished Lord Bairdley, and Zachary had some misgivings about choosing him over someone more experienced, perhaps from a merchant family or someone familiar with court life. However the lad had proved to be eager and capable, and thoroughly guileless, which was refreshing, in that Zachary felt like he could speak his mind and not worry, and not have to look behind every sentence the person spoke for some hidden intent.

Anduis was already standing in front of the desk in Zachary's study when the king entered, and he bowed low. "Morning sire".

"Good morning Aduis," greeted Zachary, gesturing for Anduis to sit. The king waited until he had done so, then paced to the windows and stared out for a moment. Muted shafts of sunlight stretched into the room and birds twittered in the shrubbery. _She's out there somewhere_, he thought. _I just have to discover where_.

He took a deep breath and pulled himself back to the present, turning around to address the young man who was watching him curiously.

"As you know, the Lord Governors are arriving tomorrow for the Council meeting."

"Yes sire, in fact the Mirwell party arrived early this morning". Zachary smirked at that. Lord Timas of Mirwell always liked to think he was ahead of the others. "Would you like me to prepare a letter for one of their Lordships?" Anduis was already half out of his seat in his eagerness, ready to summon a green foot to be ready to take the letter.

Zachary smiled, a glint in his eye. "No. No, we are going to write a letter, but I shall require you to deliver it personally, if you are up to the task." Anduis nodded vigorously and prepared his quill, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in anticipation.

A short time later the king's secretary was striding out of the room, quivering with importance, the folded parchment safely tucked inside his inner coat pocket. Zachary watched him go with a mixture of amusement and apprehension. He would have sent one of the Green Riders usually, or occasionally a Weapon if it was a private matter. But the address he had given was in the dankest and most dangerous part of Sacor City, where there were eyes everywhere. Anduis was new to these parts, and had the best chance, Zachary judged, of not being recognised. And something about the lad made Zachary give him a chance—the supreme confidence of the young perhaps. He sighed, suddenly feeling old beyond his years. He just hoped all would go according to plan.

A voice from the doorway startled him from his thoughts. "Majesty", Donal spoke, taking one step forward. The king looked bemused at hearing the taciturn weapon say something. "Being Samhain Day today, the Weapons have our traditional evening ceremony honouring Westrion. I ask you to give Royal consent for most of the tomb guards to come and join in, leaving just a skeleton crew behind, only guarding the main entrance." He finished by solemnly producing a scroll from within his sleeve, which Zachary accepted, lips twitching to avoid laughing at the unintended pun. The Weapon watched intently as the king attached his seal to the bottom of the scroll, and then took it reverently, turned on his heel and marched out of the room.

Zachary finally let himself laugh, and he thought Fastion was smiling too, from the flash of white teeth in the corner. He sat down at his desk and thought for a moment before signalling to Fastion. "Send in the green foot runner, please." He heard Fastion open the door and a young girl came in, approaching the king with wide eyes and bobbing a curtsey.

"Shari, please ask the Royal Historian and the Castellan to come and see me please". The blushing girl bobbed another hasty curtsey before hastening out, nearly knocking Fastion over as he opened the door. Fastion righted himself and looked at the king, the slight lift of one eyebrow showing his curiosity. The King exchanged a look with his Weapon, and finally Fastion nodded, not needing to say anything. He had always known where the king's heart would lead him, and Fastion for one was glad this would be resolved.

After a few minutes the diminutive old historian and the king's new Castellan entered, bowing formally and then seating themselves in the plush chairs before the king, as he gestured them to do so. "Geffers, Kaspor. You may be surprised at me calling you here so informally."

Geffers, who was so old he appeared to have more hair in his ears than on his head, looked at the king rather like a sleepy mole, and certainly did not seem to be surprised. Kaspor, on the other hand, was looking with dark beady eyes from the king to the old man and back again, evidently hoping he had not made something go awry so quickly.

"I am afraid that what I am about to ask of you will not make much sense right now, but hopefully tomorrow it will." Kaspor frowned at this. He didn't like things that he could not understand. "My request is simple," continued Zachary, "simply that I ask you attend the general Council that is sitting tomorrow." Kaspor nodded at this, looking relieved. Geffers said nothing but squinted at the king a little, as if to see what he was getting at. "I am going to introduce an… unorthodox topic during the council meeting, and I would appreciate your support in this matter, and your experience or views on the matter."

Kaspor looked at Geffers sideways, as if to ascertain what experience the wrinkled old man could have in common with him, a Selium-educated politician. Geffers simply grunted his assent. Zachary took their silence as an affirmation; "I thank you both in anticipation", and nodded their dismissal. The two men bowed, Kaspor still casting furtive glances at the man beside him, and exited. Zachary stood also, and realised his stomach was rumbling. "Fastion, I do believe it is lunchtime, and I believe I shall take my luncheon with the Queen."

* * *

Zachary swept through the ornate doors to the Queen's solarium with his usual mask of bland politeness in place, taking Estora—who was waiting at the door looking somewhat surprised—by the hand and escorting her to the dining table set up in the sunlit room. His quiet and dignified manner remained as they dined on the buffet laid out before them, various servants hovering nearby to uncover dishes or refill glasses. Eventually the plates were cleared away and Estora looked at the king in anticipation.

"Zachary—what is it? You know I enjoy the pleasure of dining together but I think I am not wrong in supposing you are not here for my enjoyment, nor merely to ask after my health."

He smiled slightly; her keen intelligence was evident but he hoped it would make things easier in the end. He decided to go straight to the point.

"Estora, you know why our marriage alliance was arranged between our father and I." She nodded. "And why I agreed to it." She nodded again, yes, she knew alright. Her father had recounted many times and with great satisfaction why the king could not possibly refuse her hand. "And you know, perhaps you did not at that time, but I think you know now why I had certain—reservations about it." She nodded a third time, more hesitantly; his feelings for Karigan was a topic she had discovered but had not dared to broach with him.

He cleared his throat and continued. "I must tell you I had a very interesting conversation with a young woman several days ago, whose mother I think had some close dealings with your family. A woman named Ursula, I think."

Estora blanched at this unexpected news. _No, no, no_, she thought. _The king can't—he can't possibly know about _that_, about what happened-_. Zachary was watching her with satisfaction and a small amount of instinctive concern; she seemed to collect herself, realising she had clasped her hands around her throat and lowered them slowly to her lap.

He waited a few moments for her to compose herself before continuing. "Things were precarious in the weeks after the failed assassination attempt. Indeed, you were all too aware of this as many of my responsibilities were placed upon you for some time until I awoke. While I did not blame you entirely for your part in what happened, I cannot condone it." His voice rose and she now looked quite taken aback; shocked that he had hidden his true feelings so well for so long. "I appreciated your support and protection of Captain Mapstone, although I myself did not realise her act of betrayal at the time. And at the time of my recovery I had no choice but to validate the marriage contract, _which you knew_."

His voice dropped again but took on a menacing tone; if possible her face went even whiter. "You knew very well from the beginning, Estora, that my hands were tied. You knew I had been virtually blackmailed into agreeing to this marriage in the first place, and even back then I looked after your interests; I introduced the clause into the contract such that you could back out if you desired. I knew about your previous affections, just as you were to discover mine. And yet you went ahead with a marriage ceremony while I was unconscious, which you must have known I would find distasteful—"

She opened her mouth to argue but snapped it shut as he glared at her. "Yes, I _know_ everyone said it was for the good of the country. I _know_ they were my trusted advisors telling you this. And I know Spane was placing great pressure on you. But you have shown your cleverness Estora, and you are not a spineless, helpless maiden. As for the consummation ritual" – he broke off, unable to find words to express his distaste and humiliation. She looked down at her hands, finally unable to meet his gaze.

A long silence stretched between them. Finally Estora looked up at the king, his expression stony. "What will you do?" she asked.

"My conscience can no longer allow this situation, just as yours should never have allowed you to accept it. I will act tomorrow, at the meeting of the Council." She looked even more distressed now, thinking back to what he had insinuated earlier, and his face softened. "I do not intend to humiliate you Estora, or your family. The private information that has been revealed to me I intend to _keep_ private, as long as you go along with my wishes and your family makes no attempt to make a scene."

She nodded, then asked "and what will happen to me?"

"You will go back to Coutre, and take your rightful position as Lady Governor of Coutre. Which I think, you were originally more inclined to, before you were seduced by the glamour of court life, the power of your new position and the prospect of being admired by a king?"

She grimaced at this frank appraisal of her situation. He suddenly looked slightly ashamed, and sighed. "I'm sorry that it has come to this, I never thought that I would become like them, like the cruel men who try like the tumbler to twist fate. I thought I could be fair and just at all times. I do hope I am still fair and just. But I am learning the hard way that the people I trust cannot be trusted absolutely, and I will do what must be done to set this right, and undo the havoc that has been wreaked in the name of a false sense of peace."

"Your majesty, you do not need to apologise to me" said Estora, standing and managing to re-gain her ladylike demeanour. "I accept your judgement and I will uphold your wishes on the morrow." She did not glance back as she walked calmly to the door.

Fastion laughed, a sharp sound from the door where he had closed it behind her. The weapon advanced a little to stand where the king's eyes were trained on the rug, forcing him to look up from his feet to the unusually earnest expression on his face. "Sire, forgive me for speaking freely, but her Ladyship ought to be vastly relieved she did not receive a punishment such as those meted out to the other participants in that distasteful conspiracy. You have been extremely merciful, even to withhold certain… distasteful details."

Zachary raised one eyebrow at this and then replied, "True, Fastion. But I think it will take her a little time to see it that way. When she does though, she will see that I have placed my confidence in being able to trust her in the future, else I would not have allowed her to take up the Governorship. The main thing is, I can safely say she will not cause any problems tomorrow."

He broke off to pace to the glass doors overlooking the rose garden, inhaling the sweet, fresh air. _Yes, Estora was most assuredly not going to cause any problems. But as for everyone else… Well, tomorrow was going to be very interesting indeed. _

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